A Spark of Hope
by RalynnFrost
Summary: "Jumped the gun on snatching that power, didn't you? I really should have given the whole living forever thing more forethought." One Shot - Future Sylaire


**A Spark of Hope**

**Inspired by "Possibility" by Lykke Li **

_"Tell me when you hear my heart stop._

_You're the only one that knows._

_Tell me when you hear my silence._

_There's a possibility I wouldn't know."_

* * *

><p>The hunt no longer held a thrill for him all the while the <em>hunger<em> continued to churn wickedly inside; slithering up and down his spine like the creature of darkness that he likened himself to in those days. Empathy had long ago lost its spark of interest, but not even the prospect of acquiring a new ability could rouse him from his state of ever increasing apathy. Once upon a time the domain of "specials" had regarded him with absolute fear, telling their children and their children's children stories about the headhunting Boogeyman. But that bit of notoriety had also been lost. Now, he lethargically watched power after power rise around him and pass by unscathed, sinking under the weight of history into another ridiculed urban myth. A bygone legend.

When the sun shone overhead with the promise of a bright new day he didn't feel its warmth. Food and drink no longer had a taste, and he rarely partook in the act of obtaining sustenance anymore. Unless he happened across a particularly fine wine or brandy of course, though it had been more than a few years since he had even feigned interest with that. The old familiar sting of the aged alcohol as it coursed down his throat was a disappointment in itself when it could not provide the relief he sought. Not even the warmth of a woman's touch graced him with any sense of appeal. Decades had turned the world around him since he had bothered; not that he hadn't had his share of propositions, but it didn't seem worth the energy to try. Not when he couldn't enjoy it. Not when he couldn't _feel_.

Emotions had long dried up like the bed of a shallow creek during a drought leaving cracks in the parched earth of his heart. There was no joy, no sadness, no anger or pain. Just a void fueled by the nothing of what used to be. He had often wondered if his situation was similar to how Claire had felt after he had taken her immortality for himself. Before he had thought it a trivial matter; maybe an improvement that the girl couldn't sense pain anymore, but now he understood perfectly. Perhaps the common ache of an exhausted muscle or jolt of agony from a stubbed toe was a gift of sorts. A reminder of what it is to be human.

A human he was physically, but in everything that mattered he was only a hollow shell; a poor impersonation of a being. At least Claire had maintained the ability to summon blind fury. She still had a firm grasp on who she was personality-wise. The only thing more bland than his personality was the bleak future of spending day after countless day repeating the same routine. He didn't need his precognitive capabilities to know what tomorrow would bring.

Gabriel Gray sat alone on a park bench aimlessly flicking shredded scraps of bread over the ground for a group of birds to squabble over. Goosebumps prickled his skin from the chill in the air since he hadn't bothered to don a coat in over a lifetime, but it didn't matter because while his body naturally reacted to the low temperature, the reality of it was lost on him like so many other things that the people casually strolling by took for granted. Right on schedule, _she_ appeared like an angel of salvation.

Out of the corner of his eye Gabriel detected the motion of a jogger quickly approaching. He leaned back from his hunched position over his knees and observed none other than Claire Bennet flit past him and down the path of her morning trail. She was as beautifully enthusiastic as ever, perpetually eighteen. They curtly nodded to one another without speaking as they had done without fail each day at precisely 9:02 A.M. in that particular spot for nearly fifty-three years. He could remember many previous musings about the purpose of such an act as exercise when their bodies remained more or less unchanging, impervious to age, injury, or illness, but he knew he would without doubt miss their momentary interaction if she ever decided to stop. It had become something of a standing date in his mind.

After she had disappeared around the corner of the tree line, Gabriel hauled himself to his feet and stalked back into the city proper for the three hour and twenty-seven minute journey to his domicile. He wondered for a brief moment if Claire had ever taken enough time for him to realize that he quite literally spent a third of his day commuting back and forth for the sake of her polite recognition of his existence. He could always hail transport or simply fly, but that would only mean time saved to be left alone with his multitude of time pieces; the likes of which he began to ignore at some unknown point over the last 187 years, nine months, twelve days and five hours of his life. A subtle smirk crept over his lips; the irony of an immortal former watchmaker not having time for time amused him.

Along the way home Gabriel passed one of the many stores he had once attempted employment through. A small galleria for molded metal machinations of the decorative variety. At first the whirling gizmos and twirling trinkets fascinated him, but his intuitive aptitude made him a natural at understanding complexities that would boggle the mind of the typical person and it had taken next to no time at all to figure out their inner workings. Soon after the giddiness of challenge vacated him like a small child eager to open presents on Christmas morning in high hopes of finding some dazzling and shiny new toy only to be brought down by the discovery of socks. As with all things, he soon lacked the ambition to continue reporting for the job. It wasn't as though he really required the income. Having the ability to produce solid gold from any daily object had its perks and endowed him with a sizable fortune that was left to gather space on some banker's computer screen when he had nothing desirable to spend it on. He had dreamt of investing in a new home frequently but shoved the thought to the wayside when he remembered that there would be no point in such extravagance if he had no one to share it with.

Before long Gabriel found that his feet had guided him back to his neighborhood of their own volition. In years past, beyond the memory of the current occupants, the apartment building had been of the respectable kind, neatly maintained and kempt. However, the cruelty of fluctuating economies and lifestyles relieved the housing of such proper treatment. The block that had never quite been home but a place to stay fell into disrepair, dilapidating until he barely recognized it for what it once was.

Masonry crumbled, windows cracked and shattered without notice, floors creaked and splintered, and if the ceilings didn't leak, they offered the danger of collapse. Police sirens were ordinary and vehicles worth the time for theft were discretely void from view. Tenants often committed acts of violence against one another, or simply shouted harsh sentiments into the wee hours of the morning stirring discontent among others. Children were left to cry from hunger when their mothers ventured out to the street corners in search of lewd means of money or shady satisfaction from the lurking drug dispensers. More than once a naïve band of young thugs, unaware of their own danger, had attempted to rob him only to be delivered a rude surprise. Watching them run for their pathetic lives while proclaiming obscenities to the heavens that ignored their pleas was worth a brief, humorless chuckle when he was in the mood for it.

Gabriel slinked over the jumbled mess of stairs littered with half-cognitive substance abusers and entered his own apartment. He never even made the effort to lock the door. The only possessions that held enough sentimental value to take the energy to protect were tucked safely into a hermetically sealed vault in his closet that he was more than confident would remain unbreakable to any riffraff seeking monetary value. Inside, the vault was primarily occupied by files of legal and tax related documents, but a few sparse and treasured items also lingered.

An ancient copy of _Pillars of the Earth, _and a token of his past, his once famed _Sylar_ wrist watch adorned the top shelf next to a shallow box of photographs. Not surprisingly, the collection of pictures heavily featured his last remaining anchor to the world. A slow smile always lifted the corners of his semi-permanent frown when he allowed his fingers to gloss over the image of Claire in her breath-stealing white gown, the pinnacle of virtue saturated with happiness on her wedding day. That was the last time they had technically spoken. 123 years, eleven months and sixteen days ago he had given her his solemn word that he would never "stalk" her again; but only after giving the groom a reason to find religion, swearing on pain of death to torture the man into insanity if he ever so much as had a fleeting thought of inflicting pain towards his wife to be.

"_You look beautiful, Claire."_

"_Gabriel," she had nodded out of social courtesy, bundles of golden curls spilling over her sun kissed shoulders._

"_May I?" he asked, extending a gentle hand and gesturing mildly towards the dance floor. Everyone else had managed to take a turn at spinning the blushing bride around for display and why shouldn't he as well? While his role in her life may have been one of an antagonistic nature, he remained a prominent part in it. In some ways he could have shared pride with the other leading men knowing that he had helped to shape her into the strong and capable woman that she had become. Granted that he wasn't exactly fond of the memories of chasing and taunting her, or spilling her blood, but they had moved on from such grisly matters to some extent._

_Claire had hesitated, looking over to her dear Uncle Peter Petrelli for assurance that nothing would go awry if she acquiesced, and then to her husband for a comfortable measure of permission. Both had nodded their blessings and she somewhat reluctantly accepted his hand with her own._

_Gabriel had wasted no time at all floating her around in circles like the princess that she deserved to be treated as for the occasion. Soon enough the opportunity to take her in his arms presented itself. He respectfully kept a calculated distance between their bodies and remained mindful of her sweeping dress as he gracefully lead her about, but couldn't stop his mind from wandering. She was like a juicy peach in the snow, and oh, how he coveted. _

"_Are you happy, Claire?" She looked up at him, her delicate features crinkling in thought as though no one had really asked her such a simple question before._

"_Here with you, or in general?" He had to release the bout of genuine laughter that had bubbled up inside of him when she inquired about the true intent of his question with an expression of solid seriousness. Seeing him crack up served to make her giggle lightly as well at the absurdity of it all._

"_Uh, well, both I suppose."_

"_I'm not going to pretend that we can be all buddy, buddy, Sy - I mean, Gabriel. But I guess _we're_ alright." She looked away from him to her new husband talking with her father and a few of their fellow heroes, and a smile slipped unbidden over her soft ruby lips. "Yeah. I am happy. I really am." If looks alone could kill the sheer contentment in her eyes would have melted him and anyone else caught by their brilliance into a puddle of merry goo at her feet._

"_I'm happy that you're happy," he noted with startling sincerity, leaning forward to give her a chaste kiss on the forehead. The musical number faded away and he traced a thumb tenderly down her cheek in an unspoken farewell before taking his leave._

As to his knowledge, the man she had married that night never did commit so much as a foul word's worth of harm to her and they lived a lovely lifetime's worth of fairy tale bliss together. Gabriel had also been a man of his word, never following her or interfering with her life again, although he had somewhat secretly kept tabs on the girl. He practiced absolute discretion, never so much as allowing her a glimpse of his shadow when he would check in to see how or what she was doing every few years or so. The only exceptions to those rules came about when the funerals of their colleagues and loved ones began to roll through their lives.

Her father, her mother, brother, and husband. Peter… They had both participated in more than their fair share of burial processions, but the last of the Petrellis had certainly hit the hardest. Gabriel could almost feel something akin to grief when he thought about Peter's passing. He had probably been the closest thing to a friend that Gabriel had ever had and to watch him be struck down, still in the prime of his life was regrettable.

_Just like a Petrelli, _he smiled to himself, _too stubborn to ever give up the good fight. Even when he knew that life and death were on the line._

117 years, three months, four days, twelve hours. _Where did the time go?_

He gazed around himself, surrounded by cases upon cases of books and miscellaneous gadgets, and _silence_. Gabriel sighed, too tired to even release his mind to the world of fiction or instructional manuals that too often kept him company in the evenings. His bed creaked noisily when he climbed into it, sheets cool to the touch from disuse and loneliness.

187 years, nine months, twelve days and ten hours gone. _Who knows how long we have to go?_

Gabriel cracked his weary eyes open at precisely 5:00 A.M. on the dot without the assistance of an alarm clock. The rhythm of time was so engrained in his nature that the concept of "oversleeping" or "sleeping in" had never complied with his mental faculties; so each morning before the sun made its first peep over the horizon, he rolled out of bed and reported directly to the shower. Wiping streaks of steam away from the mirror, he continued his routine without a single thought to rattle around his mind; producing an antique straight razor, the likes of which he hadn't seen in use for at least 130 years. With a clean-shaven face and combed hair, he donned his typical black shirt and trousers, and hit the pavement for his journey back to the park.

9:00 saw him sitting down in his usual position, pigeons automatically gathering around for the habitual feeding time. At 9:02 he leaned back into the bench in anticipation of her arrival. 9:05, _she's late. _9:10, _she's never late. Not _this_ late. _9:15, _maybe she stopped to talk to someone, or over slept, or got caught in traffic… _9:35, _I wonder if I should check on her. No, no, you promised no stalking. _10:47, _I hope she's not in trouble. She can't die, but there are worse things than death. She could have been kidnapped or be pinned under a car in some kind of horrific accident. _12:15, _maybe she just didn't feel like running today? But that's never happened before. She always runs in the morning, even on the holidays. _3:45, _I must have missed her. She just came by earlier than usual. I'll catch her tomorrow._

He carefully completed his routine in precise order and efficiency, an almost superstitious need to have everything in perfect order in case any little mistake of synchronicity were to blame for missing his and Claire's ritual meeting. At 6:30 A.M. the birds seemed confused about his untimely presence but more than willing to indulge themselves with his bread scraps. The day came and went, his eyes constantly scanning the familiar path and all those within view in the event that he had somehow just not noticed her run by him, but there was no sign of Claire. It was just past sundown when he finally decided that she wasn't coming that day either and he trudged home with his shoulders slumped as though he were living some kind of Greek tragedy.

Another dawning sun observed his presence, having already been perched in his spot since 5:00, and another spectacular sunset saw his bewildered disappointment. He didn't go home that night though. Instead, he sat waiting, rotating from his old bench to another one resting aside a similar path. Perhaps Claire had wanted some amount of change in her life and chose the path less traveled or something to that effect. But another revolution of the bright star overhead revealed no friendly face to him. Within a week he had visited every bench and every jogging path, running each of them himself just in case she had encountered a terrible freak accident that left her body undiscovered in a hedge with a stick jammed in the back of her skull. He hadn't gone home, hadn't showered or shaved, or changed his clothing, and smelled in addition to looking like a deranged lunatic.

Gabriel heaved a frustrated sigh and retreated from the park thinking that it wouldn't be fitting for her to see him that way. Besides, if he had stayed another night on one of the numbing benches he would either be arrested for vagrancy, or one of the little old women that also gathered to feed the pigeons would insist on hauling him home with them under the assumption that he was in the middle of some nasty divorce proceedings.

He continued to report to the park from dawn until dusk like the steady clockwork that continuously haunted his thoughts long after any evidence that Claire might one day return had evaporated. He often contemplated going in search of her, scouring the globe if necessary, but he was torn between his vow not to commit such acts anymore and the ever-present fear that if he moved from that spot it would be on the one day that she chose to come back. Maybe even looking for _him_. It was an entirely irrational notion and he knew that, but he was nonetheless paralyzed by it. So he sat and he waited. Time flowed around him in a daze of shifting sands through an unending hour glass, not sparing the courtesy of waiting around for what might be the only being left immune to its charms. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. And then the months morphed into years at an ever increasing pace, but he remained vigilant for that lonesome spark of hope.

Sometimes along his walks or stints of statuesque patience, he would catch what appeared to be a tuft of blonde hair from the corners of his eyes, or maybe the occasional laugh that would capture his attentions and hold him prisoner until the inevitable deflation of his anticipation when it would not turn out to be her. Sometimes he wondered if he had begun to hallucinate her presence. Gabriel almost welcomed such an event. Anything to see her again. To hear the sound of her voice and know that he wasn't alone in the hell that was turning out to be eternity.

_Jumped the gun on snatching that power, didn't you? I really should have given the whole living forever thing more forethought._

13,140 days. 315,360 hours. 18,921,600 minutes. 1,135,296,000 seconds.

_Thirty-six years._ It had taken thirty-six years of waiting for Gabriel to break. He would have gladly waited longer but somehow the thought of possibly being stuck there for an even longer time than their original meetings had lasted plagued him out of it.

223 years, nine months, twelve days and thirteen hours gone. The question was no longer "Where did the time go?" but rather "_When will it end_?" His voice hadn't been used for so long that he imagined coughing up a dust bunny prior to saying hello again should he ever feel so inclined as to offer a greeting or word in general. Gabriel's perceptions of senses had further degraded to a point that the revolving patch of Earth surrounding him came together as a movie from someone else's life without the benefit of audio reception. There was no sound, no taste, no smell, nothing to _feel_. He couldn't really bring himself to miss Claire anymore, or to feel badly about that. He became as stone like the breathing statue that he believed himself to be. _Life_ had become a more terrifying jail cell than any government or telepathic dream weaver could ever understand.

"…_you will collect a lot of powers. You'll kill many people. You'll become strong; the strongest of them all. But in the end, it won't make any difference… You're alone. No one will mourn your death. No one will shed a tear. No one."_

Gabriel almost wanted to throw his glass into the blank white wall before him at the memory of Hiro Nakamura's words and how right he had been. Almost. Anger, sadness, frustration, and regret, they were all feelings that he no longer had the privilege of indulging in.

_I can't do this anymore. This isn't living. This is death with a heartbeat._

And so, Gabriel revoked his vow not to shadow Claire's steps long enough to bid her a farewell that she would never receive. He made his way to her old apartment, stepping inside as stealthily as a thief. The space had been empty then and he ran his fingers freely over the wide open walls and floors, viewing memories from families who had come and gone throughout the years. Judging from the dust collection alone it had been some time since anyone had called the place home, and even longer still since she had hung that portrait by the window or relaxed reading, curled into the edge of the sofa that would have sat adjacent to the corner. He paused in the area where her vanity would have rested with its lengthy mirror. Had she been there, she would have leaned into that reflection while moving her mouth around a rose colored lipstick, finishing the motion with a sensuous smacking of her lips. Maybe she would have kissed the glass to leave her lip prints behind in a fit of humor.

But she wasn't there, and never would be again. He had to accept that.

Perhaps if he hadn't been quite so desperate to leave; to find release from his prison of immortality through the passing days he would have noticed the extra echo in his step, or the slightly distorted shape of his shadow. Perhaps if he hadn't been as numb to reality he would have picked up on subtle differences in the air currents, or the raising of the fine hairs on the back of his neck when an obscure pair of eyes watched after him. Truth be told, those events had been occurring regularly over the years but he had always been so wrapped up in the folds of his own misery that he had never stopped to wonder if maybe it wasn't just because he lived in an overcrowded city. He failed to heed attention to the dark figure that always lurked just out of his line of sight and perched lightly on the sill of his window at night, never speaking or moving for fear of disturbing him.

However, just because his consciousness did not will the stalker into existence did not make it any less real. The eyes observed him cautiously every evening when he would make his next futile attempt at relief. They watched his blood spill over the floor boards time after time without reserve. They watched the rope that constricted his airway sever, and the knife that pierced his heart be pried away. They watched after the removal of his toaster, the confiscation of combustibles, and the theft of numerous toxins. Clever hands accompanying them also denied him freedom by an ingenious use of an old refrigerator. Gabriel couldn't decide which had been more maddening, the frequent failings of his ingenuity, or that he couldn't understand how or why his best laid plans had been thwarted.

Gabriel had always been a man of enviable conviction though. Once he was determined to see something through, it was only a matter of time until his objectives were met. And time happened to be something he had plenty of. It was the night that he had decided to keep it simple that he had to be foiled once and for all.

He leaned back in his rickety old chair and loaded the muzzle of a double barrel shotgun into his mouth with his toe poised over the trigger. The more basic the plan, the fewer precautions to be taken, and the lesser chance that he would have to wake again he had reasoned. _Good-bye Claire._

Less than an hour had slipped away from him before the familiar stirrings of awareness came about. He found himself laying at a peculiar angle away from his chair as if his body had been dragged from its slumping position and sprawled out for studious examination. _No, _he whimpered to himself, his chest heaving with a nonexistent sob. "Why?" he croaked to the invisible forces at play. Could it be possible that he had never really returned from his confinement behind the wall? Was he still trapped within the anguishing solitude of his own mind, doomed to repeat his worst nightmares over and over until the end of time? Even at his most calloused point, he didn't dare believe that he could have been so cruel.

"Because I'm not ready to be alone yet."

The sound of another voice shattered the silence making him nearly jump out of his own skin. Gabriel slowly rolled over to look at the figure that had been concealed by shadow in his window, dreading that his hallucinations had intensified to a breaking point between what was real and what wasn't. But there she was in all of her glory with soft golden curls and silky red lips.

"Claire?" he rasped, nearly choking on the word, his vocal chords dry and hoarse from eons of disuse. "Please," he stuttered with a crack. "_Please_ tell me that you're really here and it's not just a dream."

"I'm here," she whispered with her own coarse trill. "I'm really here." Claire lowered herself from the window sill to crouch on the stained floor and then crawled towards him in painfully gradual motions.

"Where-where _were_ you? I went to the park. I went there _every day,_ but you weren't there anymore. Where did you go?" he pleaded with her, his voice quickly regenerating through the tightness in his throat.

"I moved," she explained, coming to rest on her knees next to him. "I just felt like a little change one day so I picked another apartment a few blocks away."

"But you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't tell me that you weren't going to come anymore." She raised her hand to his face, tracing her fingers over the sleepless hollows of his eyes and the malnourished valleys of his deteriorated cheeks. A tear welled up in her eye as he saw how fatigued she really was underneath the bravado of shrewdly applied cosmetics. Neither of them had seen a decent night's rest or proper meals in ages.

"Gabriel, you never talked to me. I didn't think you would care."

"I didn't talk to you because I thought you didn't want me to. But I was _always_ there. I always went there to see _you_."

"I thought you just liked feeding the birds."

"I don't even _like_ birds that much!"

The tear fell through her lashes and streamed down the side of her sunken features, a weary smile dawning at the corner of her mouth. He was startled by the alien sound of a chuckle that had bubbled up from inside of himself. It had been so long since he had laughed that he almost didn't recognize the noise or sensation of the particular way the stomach muscles contract to produce such an expression. They both enjoyed a brief moment of quiet laughter at their own expense before Gabriel became solemn once more.

"How much longer do we have to go?"

"I don't know," she whispered, trying her hardest not to completely give in to the whimper that was threatening to tear her throat apart. "But _please_ don't make me do it alone anymore." He ran a gentle thumb down her cheek to catch the tears that were flowing freely there, smearing a streak of his own blood in their stead. Gabriel's vision distorted under the haze of saline and he quickly blinked it away, afraid that if he lost sight of her for even a moment she would disappear again.

He wasn't entirely sure how to react when she threw her arms around his neck, embracing him with every ounce of strength her frail frame had to offer, but it was something that he could _feel_. It was in that simple gesture that he found the spark he had been searching for all along. A spark of hope.

**The end.**


End file.
